


Stubborn Confidentiality

by Selly87



Series: Leap of Faith [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Anxiety Attacks, Attempted Murder, Denial, Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Head Auror Harry Potter, Healer Draco Malfoy, Hero Complex, Light Angst, M/M, Panic Attacks, Self-Medication, St Mungo's Hospital, Stubborn Draco Malfoy, Stubborn Harry Potter, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Unresolved Tension, aftermath of a suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-06
Updated: 2018-12-06
Packaged: 2019-09-12 22:04:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16880070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Selly87/pseuds/Selly87
Summary: “I will not jump,” Potter’s voice echoed in his head and Draco clutched his stomach, breathed through a sudden, but expected, wave of nausea and calmly swallowed past the overpowering urge to retch.





	Stubborn Confidentiality

**Author's Note:**

> **Note:** I don't think this story will make much sense if you haven't read [Leap of Faith](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16800958), although you should be able to understand it.
> 
> Anyways, onward...
> 
> So, after Harry's heroic (and _MAD_ ) attempt to save Draco's life, I felt it necessary to shed a bit more light onto what happened, though I have decided to keep my cards close to my chest. This, _my friends_ , means the guessing game is far from over and I am very much looking forward to you telling me what you think happened... (I'm not looking for ideas, I know exactly what happened... _*sly Slytherin smirk*_ )
> 
> Seriously folks, this story was meant to be a one off, to get some stupid idea out of my head, alas, the plot bunnies keep coming for this and I'm in a mild panic...that my mind will attempt to turn this into a long story, which I am vehemently refusing to let happen. Realistically, I should be able to wrap this up in a trilogy.

Draco felt a bout of intense weariness wash over him much like a series of tidal waves crashing onto the British shores of Atlantic Ocean. He dropped his self-inking quill onto the open medical file on his desk, leant back in his black leather chair and closed his eyes. His lingering tension headache was driving him mad and the searing pain behind his eyeballs only intensified as that by now familiar prelude to his rapidly approaching panic attack threatened to overwhelm his senses. He took several deep breaths and heaving himself out of his chair, he rounded his large mahogany wood, strode across the room, made it to the closed door to his office and gripped the doorframe so firmly that his knuckles turned white and his fingernails painfully dug into the wood. He gave into the all-consuming dizzy spell, breathed through his nose, and kept his mouth firmly shut, lest he might vomit all over his antique oriental rug. He didn’t particularly like it, rather hated it in fact, but his mother had gifted it to him to congratulate him on becoming the youngest Head of Department in the history of St Mungo’s and he was too filial a son not to accept it and display it in his office.

“I will not jump,” Potter’s voice echoed in his head and Draco clutched his stomach, breathed through a sudden, but expected, wave of nausea and calmly swallowed past the overpowering urge to retch. He took several deep breaths and it took a few minutes but he finally managed to combat both the dizziness and nausea. They lingered persistently but were manageable. For now, at least. He wrenched the door to his office open, called out to his trusty secretary and told her to cancel his attendance at this afternoon’s Department Head meeting. She frowned but Ally had worked with him for long enough not to question his orders and he liked it this way. He sensed that she was about to make a worried inquiry about his wellbeing, forced a terrifying grin onto his face and promptly slammed the door to his office shut. He turned, leant heavily against the door, and rather ungracefully slid down to the floor, pulling his knees up to his chest as he did so. “I will not jump,” Potter reminded him and Draco felt the gaping unease in his chest intensify tenfold. He bit his tongue until the bitter and metallic taste of blood made him grimace and wrenched his wand from its holster on the inside of his white healer’s coat.

He barely managed to mumble the incantation required to cast a powerful privacy charm, dropped his wand onto the floor and gave in to the urge to scream. His chest constricted painfully and he gasped for air. Salty tears burned his eyes but he refused to yield to the desire to weep, knowing if he allowed that very aftereffect of his recent near-death experience to get the better of him, he might never stop crying. He forced himself to breathe through his anxiety attack — _or whatever mental breakdown he was experiencing that forced him to his knees daily_ — and when the worst of it had passed, he reached for his wand, clutched it with his shaking hand and summoned a phial of Calming Draught from his medicine cabinet.

It took Draco three attempts to uncork the phial, but the moment the cork came loose, he raised the potion phial to his lips and tipped his head back to down the tasteless drug. _If you keep that up, you’ll end up treating yourself for Potions Misuse_ , the relational part of his brain tried to tell him. _Shut the fuck up, I’m a healer, I know what I’m doing_ , he snapped in his head, rested his head back against his office door and sighed. Truthfully, he had no idea what he was doing. All the medical literature in the St Mungo’s library, as well as his own personal collection of notable publications on the fine art of healing, reiterated that an imperiused person should not be able to remember anything of what they had done while under the influence of the curse. Yet, in clear defiance of all logic — _and all medical research in existence_ — he clearly remembered standing up on that ledge at the top of Heron Tower, ready to jump to his death. He also, quite vividly, remembered jumping, or rather slipping, to his death only for Harry sodding Potter to save his life yet again. _How many fucking life debts am I going to have to repay before we can finally live separate lives?_ he asked himself and blinking several times he focused on the framed healing degree — _his pride and joy_ — behind his desk. It didn’t appear blurry anymore and his tension headache had ebbed away. It was now just a dull ache at the back of his neck, a faint but unsettling reminder of today’s crippling panic attack.

_If only obliviating himself was an option_ he thought wistfully, pushed himself to his feet and returned to sit in his comfortable chair behind his desk. His mouth felt dry and as he reached for the glass of water on his desk, Potter’s horrified expression persistently flickered to the forefront of his mind. He tried to push it away but Potter, stubborn as he was, refused to budge, refused to leave him alone, refused to give him even just a moment of peace. He glared at the pile of letters Potter had owled him over the course of this week and flicked the entire stack into the fireplace with an angry growl. The flames lapped up the unexpected treat and Draco hummed with satisfaction. He had no intention of filing a report with the Auror Department over what had happened up on that ledge and he also didn’t care for an investigation into who had Imperiused him and why. For all Draco cared, Potter could bend over backwards to try and get him to make an appearance in the Ministry of Magic. He had no interest of following through on Potter’s insistent requests to investigate his case and nothing short of an official summons from the Wizengamot was going to make Draco give Potter what he wanted. He had enough problems to deal with as he tried to cope with the despicable mental scars his involuntary suicide attempt had left him with. He also had a department to run, healers to train, patients to heal and a paper to publish.

Taking another deep breath, Draco leant forward, reached for his quill, and resumed his work on the open medical file on his desk. He still had a bunch of test results to collate to try and make sense of Healer Xuan’s diagnosis and the proposed treatment plan for — _Draco briefly glanced at the top of the file_ — patient Orla Kirkby in room five. It was a rather offensive treatment plan, well removed from common practices and accepted standards and as such Healer Xuan required his approval before he could begin treating his patient. Draco sighed, so far nothing about the patient’s medical history and her presenting complaints stood out to him and Healer Xuan was a highly qualified Attending Healer here at the hospital. To be sure, Draco read over the proposed treatment plan and was about to review the nurse’s notes on this morning’s vital checks, when someone threw the door to his office upon with such force that the hinges groaned and the wooden door bounced off the heavy midnight green marble umbrella stand behind it.

Draco looked up and found himself looking right into the exceptionally green eyes of a rather menacing-looking Harry Potter, scarlet-red Auror robes flowing behind him as he stood in the doorway to Draco’s office. Ally squeezed through the tiny gap between Potter and the doorframe. She looked rather flustered and was wrangling her fingers in a manner that reminded Draco of a house elf. “Healer Malfoy, sir, I’m s—so sorry, I to—told Auror Potter you’re n—not available—” she stammered her way through her apology and rising to his feet, Draco emerged from behind his desk, approached his shaken secretary and placed a calming hand on her shoulder. A gentle squeeze and a soft smile later she relaxed visibly and Draco once again prided himself on his impeccable bedside manners. He was still a stubborn git with an out-of-control temper and a snarky mouth but these days he reserved his less than favourable character traits for dealing with the imbeciles that called themselves the Board of Directors of St Mungo’s.

“It’s all right, Ally, I’ll deal with _Head_ Auror Potter,” Draco accentuated Potter’s title with a contemptuous glare as he appeased his secretary and she shot him a grateful smile. “Would you bring us some tea? I have the feeling Mr Potter won’t leave as quickly as I’d like him to,” he added and Ally nodded, then hurried out off his office. Potter had the grace to step further into the room so that she could close the door behind herself and Draco raised a curious eyebrow at Potter. “Anything I can help you with, Potter? One of your Aurors unfortunate enough to get himself cursed on a case? If so, I’m sure I can arrange for a bed,” he said, feigning well-schooled nonchalance as he returned to his chair behind his desk. Somehow, having a large desk between himself and Potter made him feel better about having Potter stood in his office, hands on his hips, looking like he was about to either combust or draw his wand and hex Draco out of the enchanted window behind him.

“Drop the pretence, Malfoy, you know exactly why I’m here,” Potter snapped, his eyes flashing angrily and Draco curled his left hand into a tight fist but kept it well out of Potter’s sight. “You ignored all of my owls, I had no other choice but to come to you.”

“Come to apologise for that rather inappropriate kiss that practically bordered on sexual assault, then?” Draco drawled, purposefully ignoring Potter’s last statement. He smirked when Potter opened his mouth to make a retort but evidently changed his mind and remained silent instead. Draco shot him a challenging look, daring him to say something, anything. Potter held his gaze, unwaveringly so, and for several minutes they merely stood across from each other, engaged in a staring match of the most awkward kind. Eventually, Potter seemingly found his voice and Draco straightaway preferred that he hadn’t.

Potter laughed and it sounded even more inappropriate than his kiss had felt. Draco instantly regretted having brought it up, he had been doing a rather splendid job of ignoring the fact that it had happened in the first place. “As inappropriate as when you fucked my brains out after the trials?” Potter asked, piercing him with his too green eyes. Draco swallowed, curled his toes in his shoes and clenched his other hand into a fist too. He had avoided thinking about that memory for the last sixteen years and couldn’t help but wonder when Potter had learnt to be this snide. When had Britain’s Golden Boy — _man_ , Draco’s mind unhelpfully corrected him — taken a crash course in Slytherin mannerisms? Draco wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it and was rather grateful when the door opened and Ally entered, levitating a tray with a teapot, two teacups, milk, sugar, and a plate of his favourite butter shortbread. She placed the tray carefully on Draco’s desk, shot him a questioning look and he forced himself to soften his expression. He gave her a warm smile, thanked her and after a moment of hesitation she turned around and left his office. _Merlin, do I love that woman_ , Draco thought to himself. Ally was a true saint, always looking out for him, always worrying about him but never quite overstepping the boundaries of their relationship. Still, Draco appreciated her concerns, especially because she knew him better than anyone.

Draco seated himself, reached for the teapot and poured himself a cup of steaming hot black tea. “Having a cuppa?” he offered politely and Potter pursed his lips, then nodded in silent agreement. Draco poured him a second cup, added two pieces of brown rock sugar crystals to his tea and stirred it. “I don’t know about your tea preferences,” he said, motioned for Potter to prepare his own tea, and elegantly sat down in his chair. He watched Potter approach his desk, reach for his tea, and was surprised to note that Potter appeared to prefer his tea black. He had pegged Potter to be the kind of person who might drink their tea with a copious amount of milk and an unhealthy dose of sugar. _He doesn’t look like he indulges in a lot of sweets_ , his backstabbing mind pointed out to him and Draco pushed that thought to the furthest corner of his mind. The last he wanted to do was to contemplate the state of Potter’s body.

“Why did you ignore my owls?” Potter inquired, his voice hard and unforgiving and if Draco felt at all irritated by the way Potter talked to him, he made sure not to show his true emotions. Not yet anyway,

“If you haven’t worked that one out for yourself you, then you’ve absolutely got the wrong job,” Draco scoffed and sipped on his tea. It was still a little too hot to drink but right this moment he kind of enjoyed the almost burn the hot, sweet liquid left behind in his mouth. It gave him something to focus on, something that wasn’t Potter’s eyes or his toned body, or— Draco resolutely cut his own thoughts off right there. No, he was not going to go there. It was enough that he awoke every single night to the same goddamn nightmare, sliding over the blasted ledge, Potter holding on to him for dear life as they both fell through the air, gravity dragging them towards the unforgiving asphalt below. The fact that Potter had, mid-fall, managed to apparate them to the safety of his own home was a rather undeniable testament of Potter’s rather extraordinary magical talents but Draco didn’t want to think about that either. He didn’t want to think about anything that related to Potter, it was like willingly looking for an assortment of problems he was not ready to deal with. He doubted he would ever be.

“Draco—” Potter started and Draco resolutely cut him off right there.

“That’ll be Healer Malfoy for you, Potter. I do not recall us ever being on a first name basis,” he snapped and Potter rolled his eyes with obvious annoyance.

“Seriously, _Draco_?” Potter asked brusquely. “Is this how we’re going to fucking play it? We’re fucking adults, Malfoy, not in our sixth year at Hogwarts,” Potter snarled with seething eyes. _Oh good, a little more and he’ll storm off_ , Draco petulantly thought to himself. How was it that Potter always managed to bring out the worst in him?

“I was wondering when you were going to bring up slicing me open,” Draco drawled, stubbornly held Potter’s gaze and wasn’t at all prepared for Potter sighing and sitting down in one of the visitor’s chairs in front of his desk. He instantly wanted to tell Potter to get up, to fuck off, to leave and never come back, to stop bothering him, but he did no such thing.

“Draco—” Potter started again, paused to sip on his tea and this time Draco did not reprimand him for the use of his first name. “Someone _Imperiused_ you and told you to jump to your death. If you think I’m going to let this slide, if you think I’m going to ignore the fact that it happened, then you really don’t know me at all.”

“Merlin, Potter, you should see a mind healer for this hero complex of yours, it’s rather getting out of hand, don’t you think? I can recommend you, someone,” Draco mocked. “I’m not pressing charges, I’m not filing a report. Now, I didn’t study law but even I know that without an official complaint you have no reason to open an investigation into the matter.”

“Why do you have to be this fucking stubborn?” Potter growled.

“What’s it to you whether I file a report or not, Potter?” Draco challenged. He was growing tired of this conversation and he really wanted Potter to leave his office, leave him alone, preferably before Draco’s mildly-drugged brain — _calming_ _draughts did funny things to your sanity_ — decided that he should thank Potter for saving his life, possibly even kiss him. _Where had that fucking thought come from?_ Draco question himself and only managed to control his urge to look at Potter’s lips because he studiously stared into his tea.

“You almost _died_ ,” Potter snapped, his exasperation for Draco’s obdurate stance on the matter practically dripping from his words. Draco could tell that Potter was seriously annoyed with him, but he really did not what him to be. He did not even want Potter in his office.

“ _Almost_ ,” Draco shrugged. “You saved me, which seems to be a habit of yours. Now, while I am extremely grateful to you that I’m still alive I really have absolutely no intention of filing charges. I don’t know who cursed me, I have no intention to find out and I would really rather that you left me alone,” Draco tried his best to keep his voice even but under his desk his nails were digging painfully into his thigh with the effort it took him to keep a nagging thought from stubbornly invading his consciousness. Potter abruptly rising to his feet and slamming his teacup onto Draco’s desk sufficiently distracted him, at least for the moment.

“I will not let this slide. What happened to you, that was _Attempted Murder_ , and I will not ignore this. Not while I’m the Head of the Auror Department,” Potter said firmly and fixed his blazing green eyes on Draco, who stubbornly held his gaze in a silent challenge.

“Knock yourself out, Potter,” Draco shrugged, too tired to care, too tired to continue their ridiculous teenage feud from years ago and most definitely too tired — _or possibly too spineless to deal with the aftermath of accepting reality, since he had done such a fucking marvellous job of it some sixteen years ago_ — to admit to himself that the reason Potter was so upset with him wasn’t just because he refused to cooperate.

“I wish you would just come to your senses,” Potter sighed, turned on his heel and before Draco could say anything to that, Potter had already crossed the room, pulled the door open and left. Draco was vaguely aware that Ally rose from her seat and immediately rushed forward to close the door again. He gave her a grateful smile, which she answered with a half-smile of her own. With the door to his office closed once more, Draco leant back in his chair, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath.

_Rynne_ , he thought and his chest constricted painfully, making it just that little bit harder to take calming deep breaths or any breaths at all. He sighed, drew his wand, and cast an elaborate unlocking spell to open the top drawer of his desk. It slid open with ease and he pulled out a thick medical file and placed it on his desk. It looked a tad bit tattered, though the St Mungo’s crest on the front was still clear as day. His fingers momentarily rested on the top of his own elegantly slanted handwriting, then he resolutely opened the file and stared at a photograph of himself and a beautiful young witch with long, brown curls cascading down her shoulders, taken some five years prior. Rynne sat upright in her hospital bed and the beaming smile on her face entirely betrayed the fact that a horrid curse was causing her to slowly wither away on the inside.

Draco reached for the photograph, holding on to it as though it was the most precious thing he possessed. _You were so stupid_ , he thought as he stared at his younger, less experienced self. _Why did you promise you would save her?_ He had well and truly lost count of how many times he had asked himself that question in the last few months. _You know better than to promise patients the impossible, you know better than to promise them anything at all, you are a healer, not a miracle worker_ , he reprimanded himself and a wave of anger rolled over him as he wondered, for the umpteenth time, whether leaving Britain to study the fine art of healing had been the right decision after all.

_You ran, you ran like a coward_ , his mind spat accusingly and he slammed the flat of his hand on the table, placed the photograph of him and Rynne back inside her medical file and locked it away, then rose to his feet, curled his fingers tightly around his wand and strode out of his office. He carelessly flung a locking spell at the door and stopped in front of Ally’s desk, stopped just long enough to tell her that he would be spending the afternoon doing extra rounds on the wards. She nodded, let him know that she would arrange to have the Department Head meeting recorded for him to watch back later. He nodded a polite thanks, then headed off into the general directions of the wards.

He made his way straight over to his _Department for the Reversal of Curse Damage_ but stopped in his tracks as he pulled the doors open. Potter stood in the corridor, not too far away from the nurse’s station, seemingly engaged in a conversation with one of the Trainee Healers. Draco pursed his lips, pulled the doors open fully and stepped onto the ward. He strode right over to where Potter stood, questioning Trainee Healer Sanchez. The young healer looked rather uncomfortable and Draco had no trouble understanding why. Potter looked rather intimidating in his Auror uniform, standing with his back ramrod straight, arms crossed over his chest and an expression on his face that made most people squirm uncomfortably.

“Potter, stop harassing my staff,” Draco snarled. “Healer Sanchez, do continue looking after your patients, I do not employ you to engage in frivolous small talk with the Auror Department.”

Healer Sanchez looked back and forth between Potter and his Department Head and Draco clearly sensed his confliction as to whether to obey an officer of the law or his direct supervisor. Draco swiftly made the decision for him, pointedly raised an eyebrow at Sanchez and used his most authoritative voice, “Sanchez, I thought you wanted to work with me on the Macaluso case, if you changed your mind I shall inform Head Nurse Flint that you would rather scrub bedpans for the rest of the week, I’m sure she will be delighted with the extra help.” Draco’s mild threat to pull the young trainee-healer off a rather interesting curse damage case had the desired effect and Sanchez instantly profusely apologised to Potter and practically ran off down the corridor.

“You’re interfering with an Auror investigation, Healer Malfoy,” Potter looked rather hostile, a bit thunderous even, but Draco merely shot him a bored look, headed for the nurse’s station, and leaned over the counter to grab a pile of six or seven medical files.

“I’ll be checking these patients, Viv,” he politely informed the nurse-on-duty and she nodded in silent acknowledgement. Turning back to Potter, Draco hugged the medical files to his chest and straightening himself up a bit, he defiantly stared at Potter. “What investigation, Head Auror Potter? I haven’t been made aware of any curse damage patients on my ward that filed charges with the Auror Department.”

“Malfoy—” Potter snarled, “stop making both our lives miserable.”

“Potter—” Draco scowled, “stop sticking your nose into matters that don’t concern you.” He gave Potter an icy glare, glanced down at the first medical file in his arms, read the name and hurried off into the general direction of private room number ten. Potter called out after him but Draco resolutely ignored him and went about doing his job as he stubbornly refused to acknowledge that Potter was also just trying to do his. He didn’t need saving, didn’t want any more saving. He well and truly had enough of Potter’s hero complex, enough to last him more than one lifetime.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm still very much looking forward to what you'll think about this. _*blinks sweetly*_
> 
> Also, I'm presently posting this as a series, if you think it should be a chapter (with it's own title) that's part of "Leap of Faith" do let me know. Thank you!


End file.
